Shot By The Past
by lolberries
Summary: Donna tells the Doctor to get some rest. Reluctantly he goes, but will his dreams ever release him from past events? A bit of whump, rated because of injury description.


He was so tired. His body was strong and fit, yet he was tired. His mind was burnt out. Sleep. Sleep? Could he still do that? For once it was inviting. Yet he still resisted.

"Doctor!"

"Hm?" He had drifted off again. While standing at the console too? His pride and joy, and he was practically napping across it.

Donna, after seeing him dazed from her call, stood, hands on hips, like a cross mother.

"Doctor," she spoke more gently this time, "come on, this is getting unhealthy."

The Doctor's brow compacted together ever so slightly, searching Donna for more insight behind her comment.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about mister! Sleep. Now. Go."

The Doctor gave a half sigh, and let his shoulders drop. "Donna, it's fine. Really, I don't need-"

"-As much sleep as me; I know I know, but even I can see that you've gone too long without it this time"

The Doctor rubbed half of his face with one hand and stared blankly at Donna. He then sucked in a mass of breath, "You're right. It has been too long this time."

Donna smiled sadly at her sleep deprived friend for whom she had great concern. She never understood why he did this to himself. Surely he, of all his knowledge and learning, understood the importance of balance, and the consequences of rejecting it.

He strolled out of the console room, Donna watching him all the way.

When he no longer felt Donna's gaze burning into his back, he slowed his pace even further, even allowing his feet to drag sluggishly along the corridor. His soft, reassuring facial expressions changed into those of exhaustion and heartbreak. Some days the weight of the world felt heavier than usual; today was certainly one of those days and it pulled at the very heart of his being.

He finally reached his room, awkwardly trying to take off his jacket and tie as he simultaneously pulled the duvet down. He sunk into his bed, drowned by the blankets. He suddenly appeared very small. Funnily enough it reflected the way he was feeling. Fortunately he didn't have to feel this way for long as he lost contact with the world of reality and slipped instantly into a world of dreams and nightmares.

His eyelids fluttered open, revealing deep brown eyes, burning with things seen in the past and the future. He got up off the ground and dusted himself off, even though the surface from which he came was spotless. It was, now that he noticed, really spotless; white, nothing but white. He raised both eyebrows in astonishment at what he saw. Nothing. Absolute nothing. White. That was it. For a moment he wondered if he were dead, but quickly moved on from that somewhat conflicting idea. Then from behind he heard a click; a cocking of a gun. He froze. His eyes were etching around, but his neck refusing to turn his actual head. He twitched his eye slightly, before whipping around. He stood, squinting at the figure standing with their arm outstretched, with at least 50 metres between the two of them. He thought it strange to have to squint toward where there was no actually light source. Yet the figure remained in some sort of shadow, cast by a seemingly non-existent object. However the Doctor's immediate thought was the gun barrel aimed directly at him. They stood in awkward silence at checkmate for some time. Neither moving, neither speaking.

"What is this place?" The Doctor asked dryly.

Silence.

"Who ar-"

BANG

The gun fired, projecting the bullet towards the Doctor.

His eyes widened, as the bullet hurtled towards him, in slow motion. At first, he thought it was his mind seeing things in a slower acceleration, but soon realised that time had literally slowed. He could think in real time, but physical movement around him was in a different pocket of time itself. He attempted to work through the implications of this in his mind, but it was pointless, as his mind raced only of adrenalin from the imminent impact of the bullet on his flesh.

However the strangest fact of all had just revealed itself to the Doctor. As the bullet spun, creeping towards him, he could just make it out- _CHILDHOOD_, indented in the metal shell.

The Doctor was given little time to consider this, as time returned to its proper speed and the bullet raced past him, but not before slicing his upper arm. He grimaced in pain and quickly used his hand to put pressure on the wound.

He looked up through slightly watering eyes as the pain struck him in another pulse. His attacker stood, still encased by an impossible shadow, in unmoved silence.

The Doctor's heart almost stopped in sheer horror as the figure held up the gun once more.

BANG

The Doctor watched, as, to his amazement, time once again slowed around him. He tried to move, but even his own body was caught in this time trap; his mind the only thing escaping its grasp. He saw once again that the bullet was inscribed- _TIME WAR_. His eyes were wide with fear and confusion as time once again sped back up. The bullet pierced his chest and lodged between his ribs. He chocked in pain. His hand dropped from his wounded arm and fell limply by his side as he gasped for what little air his shocked lungs would allow in. He knew it hadn't badly damaged anything vital, but the pain made him drop to one knee, clutching the split in his chest.

The Doctor then did the only thing he could do; "Help! Hello? Anyone!"

As his voice cracked from screaming out and the pain burning his body, he felt so weak and powerless. It made him feel so afraid.

But his shouting quickly died off weakly as he choked when he heard the familiar sound of the trigger. Time slowed for the third time, and as the memorizing spin of the bullet came closer and closer, he saw through watery eyes- _ROSE_. At this, his hearts contracted, and when they expanded again, it was only dread that filled the chambers. This happened every time he thought of that name. He didn't have to deal with that feeling for very long though, as the bullet struck him in the thigh. He felt it twist into his muscles. He winced as time returned. Trying to stay upright had been enough of a struggle, but now he crumbled to the ground, meeting it softly, but still painfully.

Why couldn't he feel himself starting to regenerate? The pain was so great, yet he supposed the damage wasn't bad enough…yet. Why was he being attacked? What did the worded bullets mean? And now that he thought more clearly about it- even as he was curled up in a ball of pain- how could he read those words on the bullet? Slow motion was all good and well, but changes in time had no effect on his eye sight. He couldn't possibly have eyes sharp enough to see an inscribed word on a bullet. This brought him to the realisation…

Donna heard moans coming from the corridor. She poked her head out of a room. Nothing. She wandered down the corridor, following the sound. Her heart pounded as she approached the Doctor's room.

"What's he done to himself this time? I've told him to stop playing around with those contraptions of his." She whispered this to herself to try and calm herself, because as she well knew, something was causing the Doctor serious pain.

Upon opening the door, she saw sheets that had been thrashed around but were now unnervingly still. Motion was absent from the room, but she could hear the heavy and painful breathing from the Doctor, whose various limbs stuck out from twisted sheets.

Donna cautiously crept up to his bed, expecting him to lash out and grab her or something along those lines. But she soon realised the Doctor was in some sort of trouble. She knew he had terrible dreams, but this was difficult for her to see.

…it has to be a dream. It seemed so blatantly obvious now; all those little things that don't actually make sense when you think about it, but aren't even questioned when in a faux world of dreaming. He forced himself to squeeze his eyes open. His hearts skipped a double beat when he was still surrounded by an empty white. He was convinced he should be awake now that he was back to conscious thought. Yet there he lay, feeling the blood start to pool around him, causing a disturbingly warm sensation.

Solidifying his eyes shut, wilfully transforming this white world to one of black, he went numb with bombarding emotions. He had been physically abused by the bullets, but now the words scribed into them were digging and twisting into him.

_Childhood- "such a lonely little boy. Lonely then and lonelier now. _

He curled up tighter, but relaxed slightly when he felt an invisible hand…

…stroking his hair was the only thing Donna could think of doing. She hoped it would calm his nightmares, hoped that she could reach him through physical touch. Helpless. Again. Why did the Doctor call her brilliant when so often she was left with nothing but helplessness? Surely he was wasting his time on her. She felt inside that she was incorrect about that; the TARDIS' telepathy again maybe?

She continued to smooth down his increasingly damp hair, not feeling at all sickened by her now sweat covered hand. She noticed he was slightly warmer than usual; normally cool to the touch, his head was now what she would consider a normal temperature for a human.

Donna wondered if he was getting ill, but then thought of when she was young and woke from a nightmare sometimes…

…covered in sweat, the Doctor rocked himself a little, concentrating on the thought (or maybe feeling?) of a hand stroking his hair.

His mind crawled back into that dark spot; _Time War._ The bullet that caused the most damage and pain.

_They lost. Everyone lost. They're all gone now, my family, my friends, even that sky. It's not like I'm an innocent. I've taken lives. I'm the last of the Timelords. _

Such an enormous war. Such enormous consequences. He had to fight to stop himself from reliving those memories of terror. They were tucked away in a dark place for a reason. He needed something to distract him as he felt himself crawling towards that dark place, someone to talk to him.

"Doctor?" His body stiffened as he heard his name echo around him. He didn't bother to open his eyes again, he knew he was still in a state of conscious dream. If he opened his eyes he was terrified he might see the shaded figure ready to deliver the kill shot.

The pain reaping through his body made the sound his ears were receiving slurred and thick. "Doctor? …

…Doctor?" He seemed to respond slightly; his muscles tensing a fraction, even though they were already squeezing together. "Doctor wake up" she pleaded softly. Most of his face was buried in his knees, but she saw the edge of his face as a drip of sweat traced its way across. For a moment she couldn't tell whether or not it was…

…a tear streaked lightly across his face. He thought of the last bullet;

_And I suppose, if it's my last chance to say it, Rose Tyler…_

He gritted his teeth and allowed a short sharp growl to escape from the back of his throat. While that particular bullet hadn't done as much damage to the workings of his body as the shot to the chest did, it was still pounding hard and bleeding heavily through the open entry point. As a powerful throb bounced over his wounds, he gurgled a little.

"No more," he cried.

"No more," he whispered to the endless direction of upward.

"No more," he muffled as he bit into his knee, crushing into his face.

"No more." Hold on. That wasn't his voice the fourth time. Donna's voice?

"No more tears spaceman," she soothed. The Doctor hoped more than anything that Donna hadn't been brought to this horrible place too. But in a weird twist of reality, the Doctor felt sheets beneath him. He strained to open his eyes. A thick blur blanketed his vision. However, the Doctor could never mistake the fiery hair of his brilliant companion.

"Donna Noble," he rasped, "you are brilliant."

Donna's worried face softened very slightly and the corner of her mouth rose a little to make a half smile.

However her lips soon returned to their frowning shape; "Are you alright?"

Something dark flashed over the Doctor's eyes, if only for a moment, and was gone. "Me? Of course! Nothing like a bit of nap to refresh the mind and body," he lied as he pushed himself into an upright position.

Donna gave him her most sarcastic nod and raising of eyebrows; "And I suppose that's why you're overheating and looking no more rested than before?"

The Doctor twisted his mouth side to side, trying to find words, but resorted to simply shrugging.

Donna took pity on him; "some nightmare then," she said in a more relaxed tone.

The Doctor shrugged again, but with much less energy than the previous one.

As Donna glared into his slightly dulled eyes, she knew she wouldn't get anymore out of him right now, so settled for putting the back of her hand to his neck, then cheek, then forehead.

"You're still really warm Doctor."

He gave her a small smile; "Muscles are a bit stiff too," as he remembered, with a shudder, the feeling of the bullets tearing through him.

"Maybe you're getting ill? You should stay in bed."

The Doctor sniffed; "Nah. It was just "some nightmare"." He smiled at her cheekily as he began getting up. He groaned slightly as he stretched.

Donna watched sceptically, but soon smiled gently back at him.

"So! Where to now Miss Noble?"

Donna was always amazed at how little sleep he got by on. She supposed a little was far better than none. But then again, remembering the recent events; she wasn't sure what to do with her spaceman.


End file.
